Substitute Santa
by S. Faith
Summary: What's Christmas without Santa, when it's your baby's first? Takes place after Bridget Jones's Baby.


**Substitute Santa**

By S. Faith, © 2016

Words: 2,157  
Rating: PG-13 / T  
Summary: What's Christmas without Santa, when it's your baby's first?  
Disclaimer: You know the drill.  
Notes: Takes place after _Bridget Jones's Baby_. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year! 2016 was a good year for this fandom, even if it was good for nothing else. (And yes, babies don't usually start to walk until 10-13 months, but our little William is apparently a walking prodigy! :-) )

* * *

Mark Darcy to the rescue again, that noble bastard.

"We can't disappoint the children," he said stoically, as if dressing in a fusty, hideous, polyester velvet fur-trimmed suit with a pillow tucked into the front of his belt was the worst fate he could resign himself to.

She looked up at him adoringly, which was probably part of the reason he volunteered to do it. Her adoration was ample reward.

"Thank you, thank you," she said, then popped up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. "You are the _best_ and I'll owe you big time."

He brought his hands to her waist. "I'll hold you to that," he said.

"Don't think I don't know that," she said with mock seriousness, staring at him for a moment before she burst out laughing. She never could outstare him.

"So when is this event occurring?" he asked, taking a step back, then pacing a bit. "From whom can I get a Santa suit? And exactly how many children are involved?"

"Involved?" she asked, giggling. "Well… it'll be on Christmas Eve. And it's…" She paused to count on her fingers. "Four of Jude's… Shazzer's two… Tom's got the one. So, seven, not counting ours. I don't think Magda and her brood can make it. None of them are older than eight."

"And our boy's first Christmas."

She smiled tenderly at him again. "Yes, it is," she said. "And I know he's really too young to appreciate it, but I want it to be _so_ special for him."

Mark responded by gifting her with one of his broad, bright smiles, with dimples on full display, which always made her go a little gooey. "So who's got the suit?" he asked again.

"Fergus will bring it over on the weekend," she said. "I'm so excited. Billy will be excited."

"William," Mark corrected, winking. Their son's name—and whether to use a nickname—was a playful point of contention.

…

"Slight complication," said Bridget, lowering her smartphone, her expression grim. William lay along her left arm, latched on and feeding. The sight of her feeding him, whilst messaging on her phone with her right thumb moving fast as lightning over the touch screen, was something to behold.

"Oh?" asked Mark.

"Ruby decided she wanted to make a holiday costume for her doll, found the Santa suit, and cut it to ribbons."

He stared, then smiled, then began to laugh. "Well, I admire her motivation, I suppose."

"I doubt you'd have the same reaction of a child of ours did that to your overcoat."

"Fair point," he said. "Can it be repaired?"

She tapped with her thumb again, then, after a moment, said, "Nope. It is in literal ribbons."

"I suppose, then, that we must make the investment and purchase one of our own."

Bridget scoffed. "Where are you going to find one a week and a half before Christmas?"

"I have my resources," Mark said mysteriously. "Besides. What choice do we have, presuming I don't just wear a false beard, dress in a pillow-stuffed track suit and tell the kids the suit's at the cleaners?"

She laughed so hard that the baby lost his latch on her, spraying milk on both of them.

…

Christmas was coming and as far as Bridget knew, Mark still hadn't obtained the suit. She hated to keep asking, but she was desperate to know.

"At long last, yes, I've found one," he said, holding up a hand, before she even had the chance to ask, then indicated a nondescript carrier bag he bore. "Or rather, the inimitable Pierce has. And it's not a cheaply made, polyester thing. Cotton velvet. Wide faux fur trim. Matching hat."

"Love the lovely Pierce," she sighed. "I feel so much better now."

"I'm glad."

"Ooh. Try it on?"

"Right now?"

"Why not? Please? The baby's down for a nap."

He gave her a sidelong glance, but as usual, agreed. "All right."

He took the bag with him up; she followed. When he realised he furrowed his brow to silently ask why. "I don't want you to walk 'round the house in it, that's all," she said.

It was a strange reason, but he suspected she just wanted to watch the process.

Carefully he took off his suit jacket, hung it in the closet, then did the same with his trousers and his tie. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching his every move.

Once down to his boxers and vest, he slipped into the carrier bag, and pulled out the red velvet trousers. "Ooh, very nice."

"Obviously the waist is a bit too large for me, to accommodate Santa's girth," he said as he stepped into them, "but the elastic is forgiving." He pulled out the coat, and slipped into that too. The coat went down to mid-thigh and had clasps. He pulled out the broad, black, patent-leather belt and clipped that shut, too. "What do you think?"

"I think for the first time in my life I have the hots for Father Christmas."

" _Bridget_ ," he said sternly.

She laughed lightly. "It's a beautiful costume. Pierce did well. Come here." He did as asked, and she reached to run her fingers along the velvet along his forearm. "Beautiful. So soft and plush." She touched the furry cuffs at his wrist. "Nice."

"Seen enough?"

"Mm, perhaps for now." She glanced up to him and smiled. He unclasped the belt then took it and the jacket off. "Not unrelated to this fashion show," she said, "but your bottom is as genuinely gorgeous as ever."

He shot a glance back over his shoulder at her, but his smile was unmistakeable. "Thank you, darling." Then he shed the Santa trousers.

"Did I mention the baby's sleeping?"

He turned just in time to see her waggling her eyebrows. He smiled again. "You had done, yes," he said. "And you are just as unsubtle as ever."

"That's why you like me," she said.

"Correction," he said. "That's why I love you."

She rose to her feet, then laced her arms around his neck and got up onto her toes to peck a kiss on his lips. He slipped his own arms around her waist, then kissed her again.

The cry of the baby from the direction of his crib interrupted the moment. She drew back with a giggle. "We can pick this up another time."

With a nine-month-old child, 'another time' could just about mean anytime, but he'd look forward to whenever that was.

…

"How does this look?""

The placing of a pillow in the waistband of the trousers, the application of a full false white beard and wig, transformed Mark into more of the traditional Santa, and less like sexy, svelte barrister playing dress-up. Bridget beamed a smile. "You look great," she said. "Not too warm, are you?"

"I'll be fine," he said, which meant that even if he were too warm, he'd soldier through it for his son and for the children. "Are they ready?"

"They are waiting in rapt attention around the tree in the sitting room," she said. "Shazzer's got Billy."

"William."

She went forward and pecked him on the lips. "See you in a few."

In a few minutes, to give her time to get back to the children and sit with their son, too, he strode forward, grasping the cloth sack filled with gifts contributed by the various parents.

When he entered the sitting room, the children went absolutely wild. He imitated the low, jocular laugh of Santa, then sat on the recliner that had been waiting for him.

"Now. Who shall the first lucky little girl or boy be today?"

"Me! Me!" cried several of the children.

Mark reached down into the bag, grabbed a present, then looked at the tag. He smiled. "Now, let's see. This one is for…" He dragged it out, increasing the suspense. "…Ruby."

Shazzer's daughter Ruby squealed, dropped her velvet-clothed doll, then jumped up and went over to accept her present. "Thank you, Santa," she said politely, in a manner that was more meek than he had ever seen her, then leant and pecked him on the cheek, before dashing back to where she'd been sitting.

He plucked out another gift. "This one's for…" He looked around the room at length, as if searching for the gift's recipient at length. "Ah. Pedro."

Tom and Eduardo's son leapt up with a big grin, then came up to get the present with a quiet thank you, held it up to show it to his parents incredulously. "You were right! Santa knew I was here!"

All of the parents stifled laughter.

"Santa always knows," Mark said, touching the side of his nose. He was really into the role now.

He reached into the bag once again; with a swell of love in his heart, he saw that it was one Bridget had wrapped for their own son. "I see that this one's for a special little boy called William," he said, pulling it from the bag and holding it up, meeting Bridget's gaze with his own.

For his part, the boy's eyes went wide. "Me?" he said, excitement in his tiny voice.

"Yes, you," said Bridget; patting him on his diapered bum, she said, "Go on and get it."

He toddled down towards Santa, grinning broadly, until he was at Santa's feet, raising his arms. Mark handed him the gift, which he took, even though it was nearly as tall as he was, but not without scrutinizing the man with the beard and the red hat. "Da?" he asked.

Mark froze. Had his son actually recognised him? To cover for himself, he affected a jolly Santa-like laugh. But little William walked closer. "Da! Up!" he said, dropping the gift and raising his arms to be picked up.

He heard a quiet muffled laughter, though he was not sure from whom.

"Dar—er, Ms Jones," he said, catching himself before saying 'Darling'. He was not sure she had heard what the boy had said. Picking up the dropped gift, he continued, "Can you please…"

At this, Bridget rushed forward. "Come, darling, let's see if we can guess what Santa's brought you!" She scooped him up into her arms, then took the gift from Mark's hand. "Thank you, Santa," she singsonged.

William, however, looked on the verge of tears. "Want Dada…" he said mournfully. Mark's heart broke, and he resolved to get out of the Santa suit as soon as possible.

He carried on handing out all of the gifts until they were all gone, then he rose to stand. "I must be off to bring gifts to the other boys and girls of England," he said, then did another Santa-grade laugh. "Enjoy your gifts, and go to bed early like your parents say."

"Thank you, Santa," said one child, and they all followed in turn. He disappeared out into the foyer, then dashed up the stairs, shed the Santa suit and beard, slipped on his reindeer jumper, inspected himself in the mirror to check for any tell-tale Santa remnants, and then went back downstairs.

"All done with my work phone call," Mark said loudly as he came back in, then feigned surprise at the rustling of all of the wrapping paper being torn asunder. "My goodness, what's going on here? What did I miss?"

"Santa came with presents!" said Poppy, Jude's girl.

"Santa, eh?" he said.

At the sound of his father's voice, William shot as fast as his little legs would carry him over to his father. "Dada!"

Mark picked him up and held him close. "Hello, sweet boy," he murmured, snuggling him then kissing him on the cheek. "What did Santa bring for you?"

"Don' know," he said quietly.

"Shall we go and open it, hm?" he asked, then glancing over to where Bridget watched the two of them. She was smiling with a look of utter adoration.

"Yeah, Daddy," William said, smiling too.

…

" _Finally_ got him settled down," said Bridget, sitting down on to the bed with the full force of her exhaustion. "Oh, God, I thought he was going to spill the beans for all of the kids there." She looked up to Mark. "All of the other gifts under the tree?"

He nodded, sitting beside her.

"You handled that splendidly," she went on, slipping an arm around his waist. "In fact, you were so much better than Fergus, to be honest."

"I enjoyed it, which… I never thought I would," he said. "I'm glad the children had a good time."

"And then you came back out with your jumper on. Phwoar," she said, chuckling, hugging him tightly to her. "I suppose tonight could qualify as 'another time,' hm?"

"Not too tired?" he murmured.

"Always brings me life," she said.

"Hmm," he said.

They awoke to bright morning light, lying on the bed, fully clothed, to hear William's cries for Santa.

 _The end._


End file.
